Of Elites and Eggnog
by Sentimental Semantics
Summary: Turns out the day the Arbiter was pulled out of the wreckage of the Forward Unto Dawn was Christmas Day, 2552. Simply put, this placed some questions into the Sangheili's mind. Oneshot, only rated T because the game is M. Happy Holidays, everybody!


**Hello. I won't keep you too long. As you could probably have guessed from the summary, this story takes place in between the last level of Halo 3 (Halo) and the Final Cut-scene. It is...I suppose it could be considered canon, but is straightforwardly lighthearted. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. **

-~-

The ship had impacted against…something. Something, that was certain. Exactly what, the Arbiter could not tell. But from what he could make of the human-computer systems, things were looking…problematic.

Exactly how long he had been stuck in the bridge of the ship the humans called the _Forward Unto Dawn_, with the controls under an emergency-lock (the over-ride for said lock was, of course, a mystery to the Arbiter) because the latter-half of the ship was now gone, he did not know. But the room was…stuffy. And, disturbingly quiet. Even the dismal beeping of the human terminals surrounding the room, had become little more than a constant drone in the back of his ears.

It was hot in the room, and growing hotter; there was no doubt about that. Aridly-hot. The Arbiter had considered stripping down to his skin-tight suit, but decided that—if he were to die—he would like to die, fully armored, as a warrior would.

Oh, what he would have given for an honorable warrior's death! This, this slow triumvirate of starvation, dehydration and suffocation, was no way for a warrior of _any _species to die. At first, he had done his best to ignore it, but it was taking its toll on him. He had not eaten or drank in more than a cycle, at least; and, as for sleep, he could not tell; perhaps he was already dreaming, already hallucinating. For all the change in his environment, it was quite possible, though if that was true, the hallucinations were quite mundane.

Absentmindedly, he wondered what had become of the Spartan, and his Construct. They had been in the aft-half of the ship, when it sped through the Portal; now, the aft-half was gone, literally sheared from the bow. Exactly how it had happened was beyond the Arbiter, but he assumed something must have happened to the Portal, as they were passing through it. But then, what truly _had _become of the Spartan?

…Was that, was that _worry_, he recognized in his thoughts? Perhaps. The Spartan was a respectable and formidable warrior. He had once looked upon that same being, and thought it a Demon—in a sense, it was a Demon. The human had no restraints, no reservations, on the battlefield. It was as much a machine as it was an organic being…but he had seen it, fought alongside it. It seemed practically un-killable. Truly, it was an astonishing creature. But could it really have died? Could such a dangerous warrior be so easily snuffed out by some meager slip-space jump?

It grimly occurred to the Arbiter, then, that he—considered a bold warrior by his kind—was, in all likelihood, about to be slain by starvation. What Chieftain Tartarus and his fleets were unable to do, his own growling stomach could. It didn't even have irony to it; it was simply frustrating.

To die _alone_, as well. He was imprisoned here, with not a soul to keep him company in his final hours. The Arbiter was a modest creature, but surely, he had earned a better fate than _this_.

As he sat there, in the human-made chair, one his four-fingered hands slowly drumming on one of the armrests, he thought he heard something break the monotonous, erratic orchestra of machines around him. A small, whining sound, somewhere far off—no, on second thoughts; it was probably some other machine. A life-support system, perhaps, giving off a warning of its impending failure. The Arbiter sighed.

…Only to hear the buzzing grow slightly louder. This was all very strange…where was it coming from? Above him, it seemed. The ceiling? The Arbiter's senses were honed to an acute sharpness, befitting his warrior-status—but he had gone without food or drink for some time, and he did know if it was still wise to trust his own instincts. Regardless, slowly, he craned his neck upwards.

Only to see a small mark, in the ceiling. There most certainly was a whirring sound, much like a repetitive slashing, and it was very loud now. And slowly, the Arbiter watched, as…something, began to cut a hole in the ceiling above him. Slowly but surely, it made a vaguely-spherical shape in the metal, leaving an odd, jagged pattern in his wake.

Was he really hallucinating? One way or another, as the circular section of the ceiling was fully cut-away, and fell towards him, he decided it would be best not to be hit.

So he moved, springing quickly from the chair, which was promptly crushed by the falling sheet of metal. Wearily, and tiredly, he turned to look at the ceiling. Such a small movement, and already he felt physical exertion.

There was a light, falling through the hole—a blinding light, that made him reach up, and shield his eyes. He couldn't see anything, his eyes slowly adjusting, but he heard something.

"Aaaaaaaand, we're through. Nice work… See anything?"

"Nope. Its darker than a rat's ass, in there. …Hey, anybody down there?"

The Arbiter blinked, confused, as his eyes allowed some room for armistice with the brightness. He vaguely saw shapes, small and moving, looming over the hole.

He attempted to call out, but he had not talked for some time-his throat was raspy. His reply emerged as a guttural groan.

"Holy-hell-what-was-that!?" The first voice said. It was high pitched, panicking…but not _quite _squeaky enough for an Unggoy.

"I'm not sure. You got that magnum? Keep it handy. Sounds big, whatever it is."

"Oh God, what if its one of _them_? It'll eat us! Why didn't they send us some backup!?"

"_You _know how it is. Holiday cheer, and all that. Everybody's with the family. …But I agree, go get the radio."

He heard a stumbling pounding of footsteps on the ceiling, as voice-number-one must have been dashing to comply with voice-number-two's suggestion. The voices, he decided, were definitely human.

"T-this is Team One. We have cut-through, and found something, but we're not sure what it is," He heard voice-one calling, somewhere farther off. Slowly, and groggily, he moved, standing underneath the hole, trying to look up and get a better view of the humans.

As soon as he stepped into the light, he was a face, cheekily peeking though the hole, recoil in horror. "Jesus Christ," It muttered, some form of human curse, he assumed. He must have caught if off guard. "Biggs!"

"Yeah?"

"Its an Elite!"

"Human," The Arbiter said, his voice raspy from his parched throat. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly, tentatively, worriedly, the face moved back into sight. "…Uh…yes."

The Arbiter suddenly felt rather awkward. "Well…greetings."

"Yeah," The human replied after a pause. The other voice was going on about something, but exactly what, he was not sure.

There was a silence, as the two beings felt mutual discomfort. The Arbiter decided that he probably _was_ hallucinating.

"Okay," The Arbiter suddenly heard the voice nearer to him call out—presumably in response to something its companion had said. "Elite, listen, we're going to…we're going to get you out of there." The Arbiter nodded slowly. There was a mixture of feelings in the human's voice, to say the least. "Do you, ah…do you know if there are any _human _survivors aboard?"

The Arbiter paused in thought for a second. "Alas, I do not,"

"…Okay…" The voice said, disappointed. "Well, we've…we're going to throw you a rope, alright?" The Arbiter assumed that was some form of rescue, so he simply nodded. "Okay." The head turned away. "Biggs, can you tie the end to something? …I don't know, just find something big! ...Yeah, the dingy'll work…I think."

A few seconds later, a small rope fell through the hole. "Alright, Elite. …Just come out here. And—"

"I have no desire to hurt you, human," The Arbiter said calmly, his hands gripping the rope. "Do not bother asking me to leave my weapons here, for I have none." He was used to the suspicion the humans had for his kind by now. It was…well, truth be told, it was more than understandable, considering the history of the two species.

The climb was agonizing. It wasn't very far, but his muscles ached. When he finally reached the hole, he reached and struggled, groaning as he pulled himself up and out.

Once again, his vision took a moment to adjust, as he weakly stood to his full height—towering over the human who had been standing nearby, pondering whether or not to help him. His armor shone in the midday sun, and he surveyed his surroundings.

Here he was, with two humans for company, on the side of the human vessel, floating, in the middle of a seemingly-endless ocean. He stood there, for a second, the humans staring at him with awe inscribed across their features.

Well, at least there was a beautiful view. The ocean, at this time of day, sparkled brightly in the sunlight.

"…Humans," He said slowly. "If you do not mind me asking, where are we?"

"The Indian Ocean," One replied after several seconds.

The Arbiter paused, visibly puzzled. "And…and where is that?"

"…Earth…?" The other said slowly. They were, the both of them, dressed as technicians. They had some sort of helmets on, to protect them. He saw the instrument they had used to cut through the ship's hull lying nearby.

"Ah. I see." The Arbiter coughed. "And…and what is the date?"

One of them smiled, "December 25th, 2552."

"Merry Christmas," The other said, and they both chuckled.

The Arbiter was very, very confused, to say the least.

-~-

"I am sure both our species will come to prosper from this agreement."

The Arbiter nodded in agreement to the human speaker's ending statement, as half-hearted applause raised from the human ranks. The negotiations were adjourned, it seemed. Humans were not very punctual, but they all seemed to be rising, moving off. He assumed they were done, for the day.

He rose, slowly, from his own seat, on the opposite side of the room. Two months, he had been here, on Earth. Two months, since he had returned through the Portal, and had been rescued from the sinking Frigate. Two months, he had been negotiating the armistice with Humanity.

It was a tiring business. His title, in it all, was fitting; often, he found himself arbitrating the negotiations, keeping a balance between his own kind and their human 'allies'. The talks were understandably strained, as the humans desired equal footing, and the Sangheili were not eager to grant it. The humans wanted access to many Sangheili areas of the galaxy, and the Sangeili were willing to make some agreements, but the human desire for the location of the Sangheili homeworld (the simply-named Sangheilios)—"only fair," they claimed, "since you know the location of ours"—was relentlessly pushed by their ambassadors, and the Sangheili refused to release the information. Both sides were paranoid of the other, and any belligerent sentiments still existent had a habit of slipping unintentionally from the tongues (or mandibles) of some negotiators; these sentiments were certainly founded in a degree of reason, for both parties. There was no doubt about that.

The Arbiter had focused his entire person upon these talks, and seeing to it that they went well. It would be for the good of both groups if peace was stable and existent—to say the least, there was tension, but the Arbiter knew that asking for_ that _to disappear was simply asking far too much. He had seen many miracles worked in the past two months, but that was, to be blunt, impossible.

…In all honesty, the entirety of the Arbiter's person was not dedicated to the talks. There was another small endeavor present in his mind that he desperately searched to complete. There was a tiny query, and he was desperately searching for the answer.

When he had been freed from the human vessel by the two civilians, he had been…unsure, of what to make of them. They had not known his rank, or his authority, at the time; they had not known much of him, or his people. But they had said something, about their _own _people—something the Arbiter had never since heard mentioned. And he found himself eager to know what it was.

He'd asked about it, truth be told. He was eager to discover the answer, and one day, after a particularly charismatic human had taken the podium, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He'd asked the young human, a female from what he could tell of their anatomy, to explain it to him—but she had said she was unable to do so herself; giving him an item, and telling him to ask her superior, a certain "Lord Hood".

He knew of this 'Lord Hood'—for he had seen him. It was known, that, in less than a month, the human would speak at a memorial service, commemorating those who had perished in the war—it was about that time that the Elites would be leaving. Although R'tas had been eager to leave sooner, the Arbiter had insisted they stay to work on the treaty, and also see the memorial-service, as a show of good faith. He'd also seen the human, older and of a rank similar to that of a Fleetmaster, in the negotiations concerning the Portal just prior to the Battle of the Ark.

He sighed. There were so many others he could have asked, such a short time ago. The young Commander, or the bold Sergeant, who had helped him in his duel with Tartarus. The Spartan's construct…perhaps even the Spartan—well, maybe not _that_, but anyway. But now, they were all gone.

It was with heavy footfalls, but prevailing hopefulness, that the Arbiter approached Lord Hood. The man, sitting on the far side of the room, not facing him, was slowly standing from his chair, preparing to leave.

"Noble Admiral," He said lowly. The elderly human froze, facing away from him. He knew how it felt, about his kind, without words having to be said. He knew very well, but regardless…if this would get him the answer, he would do his best.

Slowly, Admiral Sir Terrence Hood suspiciously turned to face the Elite. "Yes?" He said slowly. Despite the towering Elite being so close, looming over him, he showed no sign of fear, no sign on submission. It was no surprise he was an Admiral, by his steadfastness, and by his bravery. But nothing could have prepared him, for the next question.

"What is a Merry Christmas?"

He stared up at the Arbiter, his mouth hanging open slightly. "…What did you just say?"

"I am sorry," The Arbiter said, his mandibles moving into an apologetic expression. "Is it, is it a curse, in your kind's tongue?"

Hood looked about, as if for hope. "Well…no. No, it isn't, but…why do you want to know? If I dare ask?"

"A human wished it upon me, when he pulled me from my death, inside that Frigate," The Arbiter replied softly. "I have…ever since, I have desired to know its meaning."

Hood blinked. Yes, that was right. They had pulled the Arbiter out of the _Forward Unto Dawn_'s wreckage on Christmas Day, he remembered that. They hadn't had such luck with the Chief…

"I…" Hood said slowly. "I, do not even know where to begin. Its…a holiday, in a particular religion."

"What does it connote?"

Hood stared forward into space. He'd made incredible victories throughout the war, but he was clueless as to how to explain, to an alien, the true meaning of Christmas. "It connotes…spending time with loved ones, and the birth of…" He paused. He didn't have _any _idea how to explain all _that_. "Well, it connotes spending time with loved ones, and…things."

"So it is a day of celebration?"

"I…I suppose so, yes."

"That explains many things. Thank you." Hood was about to nod and proceed on his way, as quickly as possible, but the Elite continued talking. "But…I asked one of your subordinates, and they gave me this. What does _this _have to do, with a Merry Christmas?"

Lord Hood, aghast at what he was seeing, decided it was time he had a talking-to with his team of ambassadors, upon spying a small amount of mistletoe in the Arbiter's outstretched hand.

-~-

**Thanks for reading, and Happy Holidays!**


End file.
